Page 72 of Hostile Bond
“If we go now, I’d expect a doctor to be on standby for her arrival at the estate.”
“Of course.” Conal splays open his suit jacket, pulls out his cell phone and taps the screen, using his thumbs to type a short message. “Done. Get her and let’s go.” He stares at me for a beat. “What happened to your face, André? Looks like you were in a fight.”
“Didn’t you hear about my hotel in Miami?” I say confidently. “My head of security was taken out in a bomb that was meant for me. The blast was felt for miles. I’m lucky I walked away with only a few scratches.”
He nods. “Right, move it out. My Da is waiting for an update. And you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I nod and pivot towards the door, not bothering to knock before I enter. Sinéad’s turquoise gaze hunts mine, her complexion more washed out than usual. I guess a near death experience would do that.
Her forehead creases. “Is everything okay?”
I look at the nervous doctor who’s backed up against the internal window, probably freaking the fuck out at the sight of my firearm. “That’s a question for the doctor. Is my wife okay to travel because we need to leave?”
“She was shot, Mr. Souza. Under the circumstances, I’d rather monitor her for the next twenty-four hours.”
“My wife will have her own personal doctor on hand at our family home in the South. I need to know if a helicopter flight is a risk for her.”
There’s a silent glance between the two women before the doctor replies, “She can fly. However, I strongly recommend a period of rest until her stitches have dissolved.” She starts to shuffle toward the exit. “I’ll organize a course of oral antibiotics. You’d best take them too, Mr. Souza.” Her voice drifts into insignificance before she disappears.
“Where are we going?” Sinéad pins me with a suspicious glare. “Is Conal here?”
“He’s in the corridor waiting for us.”
“You mean he’s waiting for me to tell him that his brother executed my mother, because he was a sick sonofabitch?”
I’m in front of her before she has time to inhale again. “You’re in charge of the Sapori Empire now. Which means you’re going to meet sick bastards every damn week. However, that particular threat is no longer an issue for you. How it all went down is irrelevant now, Sin. But my family, the Hennessys, they’re demanding answers.” I hitch her chin up with my skinned knuckles. “We’re going to Hennessy house to speak with my grandfather. It’s not the ideal situation for you to meet my family…”
“You’re joking?” She grabs my wrist to move my hand away. “Why can’t we talk to Conal here?”
“We don’t discuss important family matters in public.”
“I don’t believe this, Dré.”
I take her small hands in mine and duck my head to catch her sad eyes. “All that matters now is this…us… you and me. Liam shot your mother and set the place on fire. Sean interrupted him. You got hit in the crossfire. It needs to be convincing, okay?”
“Hennessy house holds so many memories, Dré. I don’t want to go back there.” She huffs, her voice weakens as she recalls the tragic events. “That bastard doesn't deserve a hero's title.” Her delicate fingers link with mine and I can’t help noticing how cold they are. “But I’ll say whatever I have to––for you.”
“There were good memories there too. It will be different this time,” I assure her, even when I realize I’d have to be the most controlled I’ve ever been.
27
SINÉAD
I remember Conal Hennessy.
I had squeezed on the back of André’s motorcycle one afternoon when we noticed a man walking through the forest with a rifle over his shoulder. We pulled over and André flipped up the visor on his helmet to talk to him.
He never asked why the man in dark clothing was alone or why he had a weapon. Instead, he asked if there was anything urgent he needed help with. At the time, I didn't think it was an odd question to ask. However, now that I look back on it, I’m starting to understand what André was involved in from a young age.
For a guy who demands to know my secrets, his family has plenty of their own.
In the brief moment of our interaction, Conal didn’t look at me. Not once. He simply offered André a quick shake of his head and carried on walking.
Today, that same man had looked right at me. His disturbing gaze didn’t miss a single detail of the horrendous black and white polka dot skirt and mismatched jumper I had to wear, or the unwashed hair scraped into a topknot on the crown of my head.
Even though my legs were stiff and my brain foggy, I refused to let the men around me see how Conal’s silent assessment had unnerved me. How those cold, unwelcoming eyes of his had flayed my flesh like acid and burrowed into my bone on the hunt for a sign of weakness. I’d learned the hard way how a Hennessy can strike when you least expect it.
I had no doubt the eldest son of the infamous Mad Mick, an Irish mafia godfather, would treat me any less differently. Even as a Souza wife, a stranger married into his family.
